The room breathes through vents,
Clean air for starving lungs.
Rules attack the heart.
Facts stroke the brain.
Amnesia infects the eyes.
Atrophy creeps in.
Time drips too slow
For deteriorating patience.
Before the flatline,
Spasms tap the foot, fiddle the fingers.
The mind deadens.
The bell jolts.
A miraculous cure.
3 comments:
First, whoever thought of this blog is evil because writing a poem a day is damn difficult. Second, thank you!
Anyway, Edward consider your wish granted and thanks for the idea today!
Yes I am. You're welcome. I like everything about this. The idea of the students and the room being one restless entity
is beautiful. And the last line is a marvel. A little pressure can produce good stuff Bro.
I agree: you are evil incarnate, Chris. Last week, we were talking about how writing a poem a day is perfectly manageable; this week, I change my mind.
You're welcome for the suggestion, Brent, and I'm happy I made it because what you've crafted is clever, and points to that moment that really makes recess recess: those long minutes on the clock just before. If given the same topic, I would have mentioned handball and tetherball and basketball, all the cliches; your central focus is by far more compelling and poignant.
Post a Comment